


I'm Not Mad, I'm Disappointed

by poselikeateam



Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [16]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Little Shit, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Vesemir, Parent Vesemir (The Witcher), Protective Vesemir (The Witcher), Soft Vesemir (The Witcher), Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Vesemir considers the younger Wolf witchers his sons. After all, he'd raised them. Usually, he's damn proud of them, of the things they accomplish, of the things he hears about them. Sometimes, though, they are not quite as smart as he'd like to believe.[The 'Claimed' series, from Vesemir's point of view, leading up to the beginning of 'Winter Games'.]
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754371
Comments: 18
Kudos: 751





	I'm Not Mad, I'm Disappointed

**Author's Note:**

> So 'Claimed' is marked as completed not because I'm actually finished with it, but because I don't have anything planned. I might write more, I might not, but if I do it will just be little things like this.

Vesemir has always prided himself on the young men he's raised. He isn't going to say it, most of the time — no, he believes that actions are worth far more than words, and he would rather show that he's proud of them than say it. As far as he's concerned, boasting is for those who need something to take pride in, but have nothing worth the acclaim. If something needs to be pointed out, then it can't speak for itself, and since he's proud of his boys, he doesn't need to say it. 

It's one of those things he's never tried to put into words because there's never been any point. The difference between ghouls and alghouls, _that_ should be put to words. The pride that swells in his chest when he hears about his sons' accomplishments across the Continent? That can speak for itself.

They _are_ his sons. For one reason or another, their families had given them up. Whether they'd been offered as payment, like Lambert, or left on the roadside, like Geralt, they'd come into _his_ care due to a lack of care on the part of their former parents. He'd raised these boys into men, taught them everything he could to keep them alive. Oh, they drive him mad sometimes, and they jokingly call him _Papa Vesemir_ when they want to be little shits, but it doesn't make him love them less. After all, nobody is perfect, and even the most infuriating witcher is still a witcher, and he'd done his best to raise the witchers of the Wolf School, to prepare them for the harsh, cruel world that waited outside for them. 

If it were up to him, he would never have subjected them to the pain they’d endured. Of course, if they’d never been subjected to it, they’d never have been his, and a selfish part of him is glad that they are what they are. He loves his sons as if they were his own, because they are. Any witcher who’s lamented their infertility is a damned fool, in his opinion; family comes not from the loins, but the heart. He may not have planted the seed that grew into the three remaining Wolf witchers, but he’d cultivated the plant that grew from it. 

The point is that he’s consistently done his best to prepare them for the world, for life outside of Kaer Morhen. He’s done everything he can to keep them alive once they’d left his sphere of influence. He’d tried to educate them, impress upon them the importance of vigilance, the concept that knowledge is one of the most important tools in a witcher’s arsenal.

Unfortunately, it seems as though he’d failed miserably.

Don’t get him wrong — Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert are alive and well. They’re scarred to hell and back, but that’s just proof that they’ve survived, endured. It shows their strength, and so to him, each scar is a relief. After all, if a wound scars, that means it has not killed, and any non-fatal wound is a fucking blessing as far as he’s concerned. The three younger witchers are professionals, and Vesemir can hardly take ten steps outside of the Blue Mountains without hearing about the exploits of at least one of them. He is proud of them and their accomplishments.

It’s just that they’re fucking idiots.

As much as he’s tried, he supposes there really is some truth to the phrase, “ _You can’t fix stupid_.” For all the lessons he’s tried to impart, apparently they share a single brain cell between the three of them, and they’ve let him hold on to it for safekeeping.

His suspicions began decades ago, when Geralt had talked about an infuriating human bard. At first it was nothing to concern himself with — if a human wants to follow a witcher, that’s their business, even if it is a terrible idea. Sure, it frustrates the White Wolf, but he’s not a baby, and it isn’t Vesemir’s job to hold his hand through difficult social situations. The thing is, twenty years in, Geralt still complained about the same bard every winter. 

It was the little things, at first. Jaskier — Geralt always said his name with a sort of exasperated fondness that Vesemir couldn’t ignore if he wanted to, but would never bring up — would make the worst decisions, survive things that no human could, ostensibly by sheer dumb luck alone. Vesemir catalogued these things, partly because it was important to his surrogate son, and partly because it rubbed him wrong in a way he couldn’t entirely identify.

Eventually, Geralt told him the story of a contract gone wrong. He’d been floored by the absolute gall the bard had, walking up to a garkain and shouting it down. Geralt described him as looking like a disappointed teacher, almost. At the end of it all, the creature had backed down and left, no fuss.

In that moment, Vesemir had realised two things: First, that the bard is a higher vampire, and second, that his son may not be as smart as he’d thought.

It’s another, oh, five years? He’ll admit he doesn’t really keep track of them. He remembers the year he was born, and if he’s told what year it is he can use simple mathematics to deduce how old he is. Beyond that, he doesn’t really care about the passage of time, because time will continue to pass long after he’s gone, and there are more important things to pay attention to. Either way, some amount of time passes, and Geralt brings the bard to Kaer Morhen with him for the winter.

Now, Vesemir had already known what the bard is. He’d also had his suspicions about the nature of their feelings for one another. Neither of those things are a surprise to him, really. What _does_ surprise him, if only slightly, is the mark on Geralt’s neck.

It’s barely visible, and if Vesemir wasn’t quite as old as he is he might not have noticed. Still, he can feel the magic of their bond, and his eyes are drawn to the mark that peeks out over the collar of Geralt’s armour. He takes a look at the way they stand together, like they can barely stand to be physically apart for a moment.

Well, well. His son has been busy since last winter.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says finally. It’s obvious to him that if the bard were a threat, he’d have shown it by now. He wouldn’t be able to survive a mating bond like that if his feelings weren’t genuine. Still, Vesemir knows Geralt, knows all three of his idiot boys (for they will always be boys to him, no matter how many years pass). 

And that cocky little fucker answers with, “Of course he knows what he’s doing. Or, at the very least, he knows what’s doing him.”

Honestly, as much as he doesn’t want to think about what the two of them get up to, Vesemir has to admit that it’s a good response. He'll be the first to admit that he wasn't sure how he felt about this bard before meeting him, and any father would be wary of a vampire claiming their son. It turns out, though, that he already quite likes this man. He’s funny, he’s confident, he’s a bit of a bastard, and the eldest witcher can’t help but respect that. Of course, he can see why Geralt complains about the little prick, but he can also see that they’re a good match. 

Again, he isn’t just going to _say that_. And even if he was, the moment is ruined when Geralt punches the cheeky vampire in the stomach.

The rest of the winter is… well, it’s what he’s used to, but the bard brings just enough chaos to make it interesting. He appreciates it, in a strange sort of way. Partly, he appreciates the way it breaks up the doldrums that his winters have fallen into, but it also has the added benefit of teaching him just how fucking stupid his boys are.

Really, he’s sort of embarrassed. If anything, this reflects poorly on him. They should know better, but he’s their fucking _mentor_. He’s the one responsible for their knowledge — or lack thereof — and unfortunately, his teachings seem to be woefully lacking.

No way in hell is he saying anything. These morons can figure it out themselves, and he can lecture them afterwards. And, if it has the added bonus of giving him some entertainment — and making Geralt smile, which he really doesn’t do enough — then that’s just a bonus.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out [my twitter](https://twitter.com/poselikeateam) for updates on my writing!


End file.
